Two fair heads and one dark one peered excitedly at the small print, Bunter hovering decorously on the outskirts.
"O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the covert of the steep place."
"Oh, dear!" said Mary, disappointed, "that does sound rather hopeless. Are you sure you've counted right? It might mean anything."
Lord Peter scratched his head.
"This is a bit of a blow," he said. "I don't like Uncle Meleager half as much as I did. Old beast!"
"After all our work!" moaned Mary.
"It must be right," cried Miss Marryat. "Perhaps there's some kind of an anagram in it. We can't give up now!"
"Bravo!" said Lord Peter. "That's the spirit. 'Fraid we're in for another outburst of frivolity, Miss Marryat."
"Well, it's been great fun," said Hannah Marryat.
"If you will excuse me," began the deferential voice of Bunter.